


Tell Me Your Troubles

by NeutronStarChild



Series: Neutron's Inuyasha One-shots [23]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartenders, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeutronStarChild/pseuds/NeutronStarChild
Summary: Sango had a terrible day. It started with the Chief calling her into his office to tell her about the newest way Kohaku had gotten into trouble: committing a felony this time. But it didn’t end there. When she walked into a bar, needing to escape from the talk she already dreaded the idea of having, her bartender was the last person she expected. So how does Sango deal with seeing Miroku, Kohaku’s baseball coach behind the counter?Happy Birthday toSapphireStarXX!Inspired by art fromMamaBearCat
Relationships: Miroku/Sango (InuYasha)
Series: Neutron's Inuyasha One-shots [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061819
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33
Collections: Divergent Adventures of Inuyasha





	Tell Me Your Troubles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphireStarxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireStarxx/gifts).



> Betaed and brainstormed with [Fawn_Eyed_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fawn_Eyed_Girl) and [Ruddcatha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruddcatha)

“What are you  _ doing here _ ? ” Sango didn’t just say those words: she  _ growled _ them.

The bartender sighed, and continued to wipe down the heavy cocktail glass with his white towel.

“I work here, Sango.” His expressive indigo eyes found hers, and she had to scowl to cover the blush that flashed across her cheeks.

“How could you  _ do this _ ? What kind of  _ impression _ does it leave to—to work at a place like this when you spend… so much time with  _ children _ ?” Sango heard the irrational screech to her voice, she really did, but dammit, wasn’t Miroku supposed to be one of the good ones?

“What precisely are you accusing me of?” Miroku put the clean glass on the shelf below the counter. He then proceeded to lean his entire body forward on the heavy wood counter, coming within a few inches of Sango’s face.

“Of—of…”  _ Shit _ . Sango hadn’t thought this through at all.

Just that she needed to be angry. And there Miroku was, a perfect target. It had been another “wonderful” day at the precinct, and by “wonderful,” she meant that Chief Ungai had once again called her into his office.

“What did he do this time?” Sango had said those words so many times she half-wanted to skip them altogether.

“Breaking and entering. To start,” Ungai said, and passed Sango the sheet. “Owner of the warehouse won’t press charges as long as someone pays for the broken windows.”

Of  _ course _ Kohaku was caught throwing rocks through the windows from  _ inside _ an abandoned warehouse. So it wasn’t just the vandalism this time; it was also the felony. And only Kohaku got caught, as all the rest of his cretin friends had managed to escape. Sango wasn’t sure Kohaku even made an attempt to run anymore. Because every time he found himself in this sort of trouble, he weaseled out of it, since Sango was on the force.

Because everyone ‘understood’ the tragedy of losing parents so young. Everyone ‘understood’ that living in a house with grandparents who mostly watched game shows all day didn’t have time or energy to entertain a teenage boy. Everyone  _ really _ ‘understood’ that a kid whose parents were killed by a drunk driver who got off would be angry and lash out. Everyone ‘understood’ that Sango would set Kohaku straight eventually. And so, even on that day, when Kohaku had finally crossed the valley from misdemeanors to  _ felonies _ , everyone ‘understood.’

Sango would pay the $2500 to replace the windows Kohaku wrecked. And after her shift was over and she was done for the day, she would talk to him. Again.

All she had to do was have a normal, low-stress day and it would be fine.

But her goddamned day had not cooperated. She’d had to deal with three drunken women who decided to get into an all-out brawl over a man, which left her with scratch-marks on her arms. She’d had to escort a homeless man who was insistent on needing to pee on a specific building to stave off evil aliens to the precinct (he’d peed in her squad car.)

But worst of all? She’d gotten to an opiate overdose too late. And nothing spelled hopelessness like waiting around for paramedics to try to wake someone up who would never wake up.

So instead of rushing to Grandma and Grandpa’s to lecture Kohaku (... _ again _ …), Sango needed to stop. Because Sango needed to drink. And so Sango went to Houshi’s, a speakeasy in town that was out of the way and quiet. Where she saw…

“Sango. Do you know how much baseball coaches make?” Miroku’s velvety voice pulled Sango back to the present, back to the  _ confrontation _ that was happening in front of her, the one  _ she _ instigated. “I bartend to make ends meet. It’s not like I bring the team in here.” Then something in his face changed, as if he was starting to find the pieces to the puzzle he was trying to solve. “This… isn’t about me, is it?”

“No! It  _ is _ about you!” Sango snarled, but even she didn’t buy the words pouring out of her mouth.

“I’m gonna make you an old-fashioned, okay? And while I’m doing that, you can either tell me what is bothering you, or you can sit and sulk. Because we  _ both know _ it isn’t about my second job.”

Miroku turned around before Sango could retort, pulling down the top-shelf bourbon and setting to work on her drink. Sango wanted to put on her officer voice, to project the air of authority she’d started doing so deftly all the way back at the academy. But… somehow she knew it wouldn’t work on him. And more, he was… right. It wasn’t  _ about him _ .

It wasn’t about his black onyx hair, that was always tied back in a short ponytail but still managed to be unkempt enough that she wanted to run her hands through it. It wasn’t about the muscles that his clothes were so inept at hiding. It wasn’t about his full lips, that when they smirked at her, activated a mischievous little dimple. It wasn’t about Miroku’s eyes that sparkled like indigo sapphires as they penetrated beyond her armor. And it most  _ certainly _ wasn’t about Miroku’s smooth and sultry voice—that seemed to be able to tighten her stomach whether it was shouting encouragement at his team or offering to make her old-fashioneds.

Okay, fine. Maybe the confrontation was  _ a little bit about him _ . But Sango wasn’t ready to admit that.

“Here.” Miroku slid the heavy clear glass filled with amber liquid and decorated with an orange peel to Sango. “On the house.”

“I insist on paying,” Sango huffed, immediately looking away from Miroku’s twilight eyes.

“I got this one—since I was the one who insisted it be an old-fashioned,” Miroku retorted, but even as she looked away, she felt his smile splash over her. “You look like you had the type of day that could use one.”

“I’m not really in the mood to flirt,” Sango snapped back, not sure if she was pissed that he’d so deftly shrugged off her confrontation, or pissed that he could tell from a single glance that she’d had a shit day, and that she  _ would _ have ordered an old-fashioned.

“Well, most women who flirt with me don’t start the conversation by accusing me of impropriety for bartending,” Miroku answered, his voice washing over her in ways she was not ready to deal with. “So why don’t we start with why you had a shit day, and we can decide if I am flirting with you or just trying to be nice later.”

Sango hated Miroku. She really did. The way he looked at her and could just  _ read _ her. That the stupid little dimple had appeared in his smile as he waited patiently for her next move. She  _ really really _ hated the look of understanding and  _ concern _ on his face too.

_ Concern… _

“It’s Kohaku.”

“What happened?” Miroku’s eyes changed at Sango’s words, the concern overtaking the flirtation.

Sango downed the old-fashioned in a single gulp. If she was going to have this conversation with Miroku, she needed …  _ liquid encouragement _ .

“That bad, huh?” Miroku sighed. “Want me to get you a glass of water?”

“No. Another one,” Sango said. “And yes,  _ that bad _ .”

Miroku set to work once more, but not before sliding a glass of water toward Sango.

“Talk while I work,” Miroku suggested, and now that Sango’s head was swimming with whiskey she’d drunk way too fast, it seemed like a really good idea.

“Today—get this—he was caught  _ breaking and entering _ . And when the cops showed up, he didn’t even try to hide or deny it. Because ‘ _ big sister Sango’ _ will get him out of the jam.” Sango scowled. “Just like every other time.”

“Every… other… time?” Miroku was still working on the drink, but his eyes and concentration were on Sango.

“Kohaku… didn’t handle our parents’ deaths so well,” Sango sniffled. “And it’s not like Grandma Kaede and Grandpa Mushin have the energy to deal with a pissed-off teenager.”

“So you’re the one stuck with his messes,” Miroku added a slice of orange peel to the glass, his attention still fixed.

“ _ All _ of them,” Sango answered, trying to swallow the exhausted tears that were trying to escape. “The time he spray-painted a dick on the town statue. The time he and his friends thought it would be hilarious to throw dogshit at cars. Oh, and my favorite… the time that he snuck into a porn theatre and started yelling ‘penis’.”

A raucous laugh erupted from Miroku at Sango’s description of Kohaku’s misdeeds, and unlike that measured smoothness that she was so used to from his voice, Miroku’s laughter seemed unfiltered. It sounded  _ good _ .

“You wouldn’t be laughing if you had to foot the bill,” Sango growled. “Statue cleanup? $400. Dogshit cars? $120. And porn theatre? Well… that didn’t cost any money, but the fucking owner of the place tried to feel me up.” The moment Miroku slid the next old-fashioned to her, she was gulping it down.

“Hold on there, ace,” Miroku said, his hand now covering Sango’s, holding the tumbler away from her lips. “That is  _ not _ a gulping drink. It’s a sipping drink,  _ especially _ when I make it special for you.”

Sango could feel the rough calluses of Miroku’s fingers against the back of her hand. She could feel the warmth of his hands infusing into her own. It was… it was pleasant,  _ comforting _ . And she could feel her resolve to  _ hate _ Miroku breaking ever further. But she wouldn’t be caught dead actually  _ liking _ him. Ugh, no. That was not going to happen.

“ _ Fine _ .” Sango tugged her hand out of his, sloshing the liquid enough some wet her hand. “For  _ sipping. _ ”

“I didn’t know that Kohaku was getting himself into so much trouble,” Miroku sighed, already handing Sango a napkin. “He doesn’t miss practice but… admittedly, I haven’t been paying much attention.”

“It’s been getting worse,” Sango said, taking a  _ sip _ of the old-fashioned. “He started hanging out with a new group of friends.” Sango took a bigger  _ sip _ . “Bad friends. And I work long days so I can’t keep watching him all the time. And Kaede and Mushin aren’t getting any younger so… so…”

Sango promised herself that she wouldn’t do this: she  _ wouldn’t _ . Those tears in her eyes needed to be shoved back down. They didn’t exist.

“Hey—let it out. It’s okay. It’s just you and me,” Miroku whispered, leaning so far over the bar that Sango could smell his aftershave. “That guy over in the corner is tanked. He won’t remember how he got home, let alone that a pretty brunette was crying. And Yura?” Miroku pointed to the scantily-clad bartender with the perfectly coiffed bob and the red eyes. “As long as you’re not launching yourself over the counter to attack me, she could give two shits.”

“If you flirt with me again, I  _ might _ just launch myself over the counter,” Sango retorted, but her heart wasn’t in it. And Miroku had managed to distract her out of crying in a bar.

“Who said I wasn’t hoping you’d attack me,” Miroku grinned, the damn dimple drawing Sango’s eyes to it, making her want to… nope—she wasn’t going to let herself feel that. “Tell me about what made today different.”

“What are you my therapy bartender now?” Sango retorted, but when Miroku did nothing more than shrug and carry on smiling, she sighed and continued. “ _ Today _ , Kohaku committed a felony. He went to an abandoned warehouse with those awful  _ Shichinin-tai _ friends of his and threw bricks through the windows. And like  _ usual _ , he is going to get away with it. And  _ I _ get to foot the $2500 bill.” Sango tried again, tried to swallow down the tears, but finally— _ finally _ , she failed. “I… I don’t know what to  _ do _ . What’s next? Drugs? Fights? God-forbid getting involved in a  _ gang _ ?!”

Sango was  _ not doing this _ . She wasn’t going to let that awful tension that had been building up since she buried her parents come out. Not here. Not in front of  _ Miroku _ … except…

“I  _ can’t do it! _ I am so tired! And I barely have money to take care of  _ myself _ , let alone keep paying for Kohaku’s terrible  _ choices _ . I—I sometimes just want to walk away and let him fuck up so badly it’s  _ done but—but—” _ Sango stuttered, each word harder to force through her lips than the last.

“You can’t,” Miroku said softly, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Because you know what would happen to him if you did. And… you’re not a person who walks away from people who need you.”

“You barely know me,” Sango scowled, but she took the handkerchief and dabbed the tears out of her eyes with it.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Miroku leaned over the bar. “I  _ do _ know you Sango. Because of the way Kohaku talks about you. Even when he’s complaining about you, it’s…  _ reverential _ .”

“You say that to all the girls,” Sango dodged again.

“Only  _ one girl _ ,” Miroku answered, putting his hand carefully on hers.

Miroku— _ dammit— _ he was making her face feelings she did  _ not want to face _ . Not right then, not ever. But… somehow she could tell, both from the way her head was swimming from her two drinks and the way his eyes gazed into hers with none of that smooth charm, but instead, with earnestness, that her mask was slipping.

There was a  _ reason _ that seeing Miroku, of all people, behind a bar, had set Sango’s temper aflare. It wasn’t because a baseball coach shouldn’t moonlight; it was because  _ Miroku _ was not supposed to moonlight. He was that… maybe one day guy. He treated Kohaku with a strange combination of paternal sternness and easy humor that left Kohaku in a better mood after baseball than before. Miroku  _ read _ people. He  _ got _ people. And… he was not bad to look at either.

Okay  _ fine _ , so Miroku was basically a picture of her perfect man. From the tallness to the hair to the dimpled smile to the  _ voice _ .

But thoughts of dating were for a different time, a different girl. One whose parents hadn’t died and brother wasn’t marching down a slippery slope toward an inescapable date with prison. A date, Sango believed,  _ she _ was the only person who could prevent Kohaku from keeping.

“Too forward?” Miroku’s words broke through Sango’s thoughts; the grin was gone from his lips, but the earnestness still lit in his eyes.

“What?” Sango shook her head.

Was he… being  _ serious _ ?   
And what if he was? Did she  _ want _ him to be?   
She was… she was  _ too busy _ to think about any of that.

“Well, there’s this beautiful brunette I can’t stop thinking about. She and her brother lost their parents. Then tonight she came into Houshi’s and told me that her brother needed a little extra  _ help _ and mentorship to keep him from getting mixed up in the wrong crowd.” Miroku pulled out a wide martini glass, then turned around and pulled rum and…  _ Galliano? _ from the top shelf. “The first thing she did was yell at me for being a bartender and coaching her kid brother.” Miroku then added the different liqueurs into a steel tumbler. “But then, she started opening up. And… all I could do was think about ways I wanted to help.” Miroku then grabbed a lime and sliced it in half. “Because I like her brother.” He squeezed the lime juice into the tumbler next, then pulled out some orange juice and pineapple juice. “Almost as much as I  _ like her _ .”

Miroku shook the concoction and then began pouring it into the glass he’d prepared. He then handed Sango the drink.

“I’m gonna help with Kohaku no matter what your answer to my next question is. I had a tough childhood too, so I don’t doubt I’ll be able to reach him,” Miroku said, earnestness now  _ all _ that was left in his eyes. “But, tonight you walked into  _ my bar _ . And it’s time I stopped dancing around my crush. So… can I buy you a drink?”

Sango looked down at  [ the drink ](https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-make-a-yellow-bird-cocktail) in front of her, then back up at Miroku.

Maybe fate  _ was _ the reason that she’d chosen Houshi’s that night. At the moment she’d reached the end of her rope and she felt herself falling, she was caught by a smooth-talking indigo eyed baseball coach-cum-bartender with the full lips and the little dimple that appeared only when his smile was genuine.

“Yeah Miroku, I think I’d like that.”

* * *

[ ](https://mamabearcatfanart.tumblr.com/post/633926796802473984/so-pretty-girl-tell-me-all-about-it-modern-au)

Artwork Inspiration (posted with permission) by [MamaBearCat](https://mamabearcatfanart.tumblr.com/)


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